Page 7 of Pining for Christmas

Jack sinks down to sit on the bench, staring up at me.

I hold my breath and nudge his legs wider apart, stepping between them.

Because it has tomeansomething right—the pile of gifts? The way he looks at me sometimes? The way he’s so tender with me, so sweet?

Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe he’s just a good guy. But if I’ve decided I’m leaving anyway…

What more is there to lose?

And maybe I’m not bold like Gina, but I’ve always been brave when it counts. I ran away from my old home. I got myself this job. And now… I can do this, too.

Pulse racing, I perch on Jack’s thigh, winding one arm around his broad shoulders. His leg is sturdy beneath me, hard with muscle, and after a pause, a strong arm wraps around my waist, steadying me so I don’t topple back.

“What are you doing, Clara?” Jack sounds strained. And when I study him in the flickering lights, his strong jaw is clenched beneath his short silver-threaded beard.

I take a deep breath. Count to five, gathering all my courage. Then blow it out in one go.

“Hey, Santa.” I cling to Jack’s gray sweater. My heels swing beneath his legs. “You’re right. I’ve beensogood this year.”

* * *

Jack barks out a surprised laugh. He sounds half alarmed, half turned on. Like he can’t decide whether this is real, or whether I’m playing a stupid prank, but either way, the arm around my waist hooks me tighter against him. My shoulder presses against the hard swell of his barrel chest.

And yeah, it’s real. I’ve freakingdreamedof this lap. He smells as good as I thought he would. Like frost and pine and the gingerbread he brought us part way through our shift.

“Have you?” Jack manages, voice tight. “Is that right, Clara?”

“Uh-huh.”

“And what gifts do you want, since you’ve been so good?” Jack winces as he says the words, like he thinks I’m going to turn on him. Get angry at him for playing along.

Um, no. This is better than I’d hoped for.

I point at the pile under the tree. Some of the packages have crimson ribbons tied around them. “I’d like those, please.”

I mean, who knows what’s in them? But they’re from Jack, so I love them already.

“Deal,” Jack says, like this is a boardroom negotiation, not a Santa role play. “Anything else?”

Here goes. I grip the pom pom at the end of his Santa hat, squeezing it like a stress ball, and lean in until my breath mists over his neck.

A shudder rolls through him. It’s so strong, I wobble in his lap, lunging to cling on tighter, but there’s no stopping this now. I’m a runaway train, barreling down the tracks.

“There’s one more thing I want,” I whisper. My face is so close, his beard tickles my cheek.

“And what’s that?” Jack grates out. He sounds wrecked.

I catch his earlobe between my teeth. Bite down gently, then soothe the nip with my tongue. And I finally tell my boss, the man turned to stone beneath me: “I want you, Jack.”

Jack

I’m not proud of it, but my first thought is:she’s mocking me.Why else would a beautiful young woman say she wants a man like me?

But I don’t say it out loud, thank god, because this is Clara, and Clara is not cruel. She doesn’t toy with people’s emotions, and besides—she’s flushed. Breathless. Squirming in my lap like she’s as worked up as I am.

I clamp one hand down on her thigh. Hold her in place. If she wriggles any more, she’s gonna brush up against something she’s not ready for.

“You want me?” I need her to say it again. Say it clearer. Spell it out for me, so it gets through the ringing in my head.

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